She Holds My Heart
by Mizalaye
Summary: **Complete**What makes one of our favorite elves so serious? The answer lies in a well-hidden past. (A short flashback story.)


_Author's Notes__: This story is one of my personal theories as to how one of the characters in Lord of the Rings became the way he is in the book/movie.  (Just read it, you'll figure it out!)  It is very different from anything else I've written, so PLEASE review and tell me what you think!  _

_This fic is rated a strong PG for violence and death, though it's not graphic or horribly gory._

_This is set after Return of the King, as a flashback to a long time before Fellowship.  _

_Disclaimer__: Lord of the Rings and the main male character are Tolkien's. The girl is mine.  That's all there is to it._

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**SHE HOLDS MY HEART**

**By Mizalaye**

_What of you?  Do you plan to wed, or shall you remain a bachelor all your long days?_

The elf sighed and shook his head ever so slightly, attempting to dislodge the memories that rose within his mind, provoked by such an innocent question.  The pain could still overwhelm his heart, though half a millennium had passed since that fateful day.

Unbidden and unwelcome, the memories played through his mind once more…

_~*~  ~*~  ~*~  ~*~  ~*~ _

He could still see her clearly in his mind, though his physical eyes had not beheld her for nearly five hundred years.  

_Leinara._

Her long, blonde hair blew back from her noble face – beautiful even by elvish standards.  Her silver eyes gleamed with the joy of life and youth's first love.  Her slim figure seemed the perfect picture of grace as she ran easily and silently among the trees.  Her laugh sounded as pure, innocent music to his soul.  Her voice hypnotized his heart.

"We are nearly there!"

"So soon?" he asked, laughing easily.  Laughter – it came so easily to his lips then.

As they ran side by side, he turned his gaze to her.  His eyes locked onto hers, and he reveled in the love that shone there – love he knew was reflected in his own eyes.

In the same instant, they both sensed a presence.  Both whirled about, notching arrows to bowstrings with inhuman speed.

From the gathering shadows crept a horrific figure; a specter terrifying even for two trained elf-warriors – a warg.

A whistle flew from his lips, alerting the rest of the party.  They were close enough; they would come.  But he knew they could not come in time.

Another warg joined the first…and then another…and yet another…until six of the fell beasts circled the two elves.

As if with one consciousness, the wargs attacked in exact unison.

Both he and she let fly a cloud of arrows.  But, only a single bolt flew true.  Five wargs pressed the attack.

He fought quite literally for his life, releasing arrows as fast as his fingers would move, but it was not enough.  Fire tore up his calf as razor-edged teeth scored a gash there.  He stumbled, and his next arrow flew wide.

A scream rent the air – a scream of both pain and terror.

He whirled and loosed three arrows nearly simultaneously, clearing a path between him and his beloved – she who had screamed.

Her bow lay broken at her feet, and an immense warg coiled its muscles to spring for her throat.  Two other beasts were charging him.  He had but seconds.

Three more arrows flew from his bow.  One pierced the warg's haunches.  One struck the beast's foot…

And the third flew through empty air as the fell beast sprang.

The two wargs leaped upon him then, and he fought desperately for a long moment, never thinking, simply moving.

Finally, the welcome song of the hunting party's bows met his ears, and the wargs began to retreat.

Despite the fiery pain racking his own body, he ran and knelt by the side of the woman he loved.

Blood soaked both her tunic and her hair; bleeding slashes marred her fair face.  He, however, saw past her physical wounds to her spirit. 

He found it, also, bloodied.

Her slender fingers pressed against his own, and her beautiful silver eyes met his.  Her jaw clenched tightly against the agony that surely coursed through her body, but her voice still rang true.  Only one word came to those noble lips.  One word was deemed worth the excruciating pain of that breath.  One word…his name.

_"…Legolas…"_

A single tear slipped down his face and brushed against her lips.  _"Leinara."_

And he watched as the noble lips fell silent, the slender hand went limp, and the fire faded from the silver eyes.

But the final word spoken by a noble warrior-maid of Mirkwood still rang through the woods.

_"Legolas…"_

_~*~  ~*~  ~*~  ~*~  ~*~_

"Leinara."

Legolas allowed the precious name to slip past his own lips.  Though half a millennium had passed, she would not be forgotten.  She was remembered each time he loosed an arrow that flew swift and true – testament to the decades of ruthless practice he had forced upon himself so he would never again fail to save a life.  She was remembered each time he saw another elf burst into carefree laughter – the laughter that had been so natural to him before death touched his life.  And she was remembered each time someone asked him for the reason he had never wed, as had happened a few hours before.  His answer to such questions remained eternally the same, though often, as had happened today, the answer was voiced only within his mind.

"When I failed to save Leinara that day, I failed to save my heart, as well.  Never again shall I entrust it to another, for it has already been captured, though she who captured it no longer walks these lands."

Legolas turned his keen elvish hearing toward the woods.  For a single moment, he caught a word on the wind – the final word of an elf-maid who had spent her last, painful breath comforting her beloved.

_"Legolas…"_

_I still love you._


End file.
